Going to Catholic school my whole life I would definitely say was a benefit to my education. I grew up in a moderately sized town where long bus rides were common along with having to drive for what seemed like forever to see your best friend because she lived two towns over. In high school I drove twenty-five minutes to and from school everyday, which apparently to Rhode Islanders is a lot. In school I was always limited with what I took, when I took it, and even what I took from it at times. I was so used to teachers standing over you to make sure your work was completed or at least attempted. They look to make kids succeed, not pass and I am very grateful for that. They look to you as a person and not just a number, as is said it larger schools and I think it helped me to know someone was always watching out for my best interests when it came to schooling. Thinking back, I guess I really do have one person who made an impact on my early education. My 7th grade Social studies teacher, Mrs. Sheridan, pulled me out of quite a funk. I was being bullied at school and therefore go home and resent everything about it. I never did my homework and I seemed to get by in overcalls except for social studies. She began tutoring me one on one but not only for her class; we would talk more like friends and we did not always discuss schoolwork. Not only did she help me with my course load, she helped me build back up my character. She helped me in more ways then I knew and I don't know where I would have landed educationally without her. I was never good at social studies or history to begin with, however throughout high school I was amazed by the grades I achieved. My senior year I received an award for one of the top averages in that class. My teacher and I to this day; recently I've gone over for dinner to catch up.
I don’t have very many memories from my early, early education except for one; my first day of Kindergarten. I was the first to go to school and my mom so excited for me. She quilted me a blanket for nap time, put bows in my hair, and made sure I was ready for all that was to come. She didn’t want her first child to leave the nest yet so she did all she could to soften the experience. I went to my first day and at the end of the day everyone was lining up for these big yellow cars, the school bus. I didn’t understand because I had never been on one before. I collected my belongings and waited patiently to be told where to stand. At the end of the list I was one of a handful of kids still standing. The children left out the back door and I was released through the front only to see my mom standing there. She was so excited to see me and all I could do was cry. She calmed me down enough to ask what was wrong and I told her I didn’t get to ride on the big yellow car like all the other kids. She explained it was the bus and she hadn’t signed me up because she thought I would like it better if she drove me. I was mad for probably two weeks after that throwing fits here and there, bringing it up. After that year, She wouldn’t drive me to school and I spent half my afternoons on the bus. I learned to hate them. Now, I do anything to avoid the bus of any sort; thanks mom.
Going to Catholic school my whole life I would definitely say was a benefit to my education. I grew up in a moderately sized town where long bus rides were common along with having to drive for what seemed like forever to see your best friend because she lived two towns over. In high school I drove twenty-five minutes to and from school everyday, which apparently to Rhode Islanders is a lot. In school I was always limited with what I took, when I took it, and even what I took from it at times. I was so used to teachers standing over you to make sure your work was completed or at least attempted. They look to make kids succeed, not pass and I am very grateful for that. They look to you as a person and not just a number, as is said it larger schools and I think it helped me to know someone was always watching out for my best interests when it came to schooling. Thinking back, I guess I really do have one person who made an impact on my early education. My 7th grade Social studies teacher, Mrs. Sheridan, pulled me out of quite a funk. I was being bullied at school and therefore go home and resent everything about it. I never did my homework and I seemed to get by in overcalls except for social studies. She began tutoring me one on one but not only for her class; we would talk more like friends and we did not always discuss schoolwork. Not only did she help me with my course load, she helped me build back up my character. She helped me in more ways then I knew and I don't know where I would have landed educationally without her. I was never good at social studies or history to begin with, however throughout high school I was amazed by the grades I achieved. My senior year I received an award for one of the top averages in that class. My teacher and I to this day; recently I've gone over for dinner to catch up.
I don’t have very many memories from my early, early education except for one; my first day of Kindergarten. I was the first to go to school and my mom so excited for me. She quilted me a blanket for nap time, put bows in my hair, and made sure I was ready for all that was to come. She didn’t want her first child to leave the nest yet so she did all she could to soften the experience. I went to my first day and at the end of the day everyone was lining up for these big yellow cars, the school bus. I didn’t understand because I had never been on one before. I collected my belongings and waited patiently to be told where to stand. At the end of the list I was one of a handful of kids still standing. The children left out the back door and I was released through the front only to see my mom standing there. She was so excited to see me and all I could do was cry. She calmed me down enough to ask what was wrong and I told her I didn’t get to ride on the big yellow car like all the other kids. She explained it was the bus and she hadn’t signed me up because she thought I would like it better if she drove me. I was mad for probably two weeks after that throwing fits here and there, bringing it up. After that year, She wouldn’t drive me to school and I spent half my afternoons on the bus. I learned to hate them. Now, I do anything to avoid the bus of any sort; thanks mom.